Day One of this trip was a total bust. I guess I should have expected it, flying straight in from Jackson Hole, Wyoming and hopping on my boat the next day with no prefishing time or even a chance to drink a beer with the other local captains and squeeze them for the current intel. Given last year’s incredible fishing the same weeks and my knowledge of the fisheries, I felt confident that we’d have no problem getting a fish or two that first day. That goes to show you that confidence is only as good as your last time on the water.
On another note, I must have a hole in my head because I headed straight back to Montuosa on the ass of a stale first day. I have two scientists on board and they’re both looking at me like I just kicked their lab rats, but I have a feeling that the belle of the dance is there, and in this game, it’s best to trust your intuition.
The weather is beautiful and we blast out there like Ricky Bobby with a full tank of nitrous. If there’s one thing I learned from the previous day, it’s where the bait was holding. In a matter of minutes the tuna tubes were full and we were ready to send a bait down.
The hours roll by. One hour…two hours…three hours…It’s a desert. A disco song comes over the radio. It’s a song by Lipps Inc., a good sign. We’re gonna rip some lips.
Gotta Make a move to a town that’s right for me, Town to keep me movin’ keep me groovin’ with some energy…
Not a fish in the spread, and it was looking much like the same as the previous day, but I have confidence in this spot. I have caught loads of fish here in the past, but right now I can’t catch my butt with both hands. I need to change something. We have to make a move.
Well, I talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it. Talk about, talk about, talk about movin’.
Eleven miles away is Hannibal Bank, although it could be less than happening there as well. I’m an idiot if I don’t make the 20 minute run, if for no other reason than to rule out the option. I don’t want to get back to the dock and hear it was going off on Hannibal while I was a desert explorer in Montuosa.
Gotta move on. Gotta move on. Gotta move on!
On the run over I’m in the tower just dwelling about all the planning that has gone into this project and the people and organizations involved: Islas Secas, NOAA, The Billfish Foundation, Adopt a Billfish, the production company from JMOutdoors, and the list goes on. What if we don’t catch them? I’m grinding my teeth into paste.
As I go ripping by a turtle, I see two streaks of green. I spin the boat around and as I’m coming off plane Juan, my mate, has a popping rod in his hand and with one cast hooks up to a 40-pound bull dorado that we invite to dinner. With dolphin in the box, we know we’re having fresh fish, even if the marlintini’s are going dry.
That little break in the monotony was good. Although dorado are not the target species, a little action does a splendid job of shaking the cobwebs out of our heads. Now if we can just follow that up with some frantic billfish ballistics.
A few minutes later we are on the high spots at Hannibal Bank. Juan drops the first bait in the water. As he is rigging a second bait, the porpoises arrive. The porpoises of Hannibal Bank have one mission in life: to ensure a percentage of the black marlin population goes unmolested. They serve their purpose by eating every bait we put in the water some days.
I have been to doctors in Panama to see if I have a porpoise magnet somewhere in me, but they just laugh and say it’s more likely the fish have locked in to the sound of my engines. I’m actively looking for an engine noise modificator.
Juan quickly reels in the bait to keep the porpoise off it and has it out short, just behind the motors and wallowing in the prop wash when all at once there is a large dark shape tracking it. Funkytown has arrived, with authority. There’s a massive boil behind the boat and the bait takes a permanent leave of absence. I’m hoping the porpoise are pissed. It’s their turn for once.
Disco is not dead in the open Panamanian Pacific, as 400-plus pounds of sinew and fin dance the water to froth. Juan feeds the fish, the circle hook is set and the rodeo is on. In the first eight minutes the 400 pound fish jumps over 20 times.
After she settles down we are into a tug-of-war for another 40 minutes.
I talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it.
She is close. She’s also pissed.
Juan grabs the leader and skillfully wires her into range. A lot of crap can go wrong right now, not to mention the fish can just as easily opt to come on board. I’m ready to react to a leap for the cockpit as Doc Prince and John Hoolihan sting the fish. The Satellite tag is in, it’s well placed, and the black marlin looks healthy as it swims off.
I dance on the tower as Juan rigs another bait. At least we’re not going 0-for Pamana.